


Snippets from Modern Meetings

by ninemoons42



Series: Dragon Age Inquisition - Kiriya - AUs [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, I Blame Tumblr, Inspired By Tumblr, Inspired by Music, lounge singer, surprise puppy!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5283350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bits and pieces of Cullen and Kiriya, from different modern-day settings and AUs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. meet the puppy!

“Cullen.”

“Kiriya.”

A very small, very piteous, very high-pitched “Woof.”

“You’re taking care of the paperwork and the shots and everything else, right?”

The puppy is ridiculously tiny. It doesn’t even overflow both of Cullen’s hands, which are cupped gently together. It’s got blue-gray fur and a stumpy tail. Left eye framed in a single splotch of cream. 

She bends to the puppy. The puppy yawns at her, and she laughs, because it smells like milk and the sleeve of Cullen’s shirt. 

“You can name him,” Cullen says.

“I’d better. And you don’t get to object to the name I pick, not now, not ever.”

He knows that. “Yeah.”

Kiriya smiles. “Don’t worry. I’m not calling him Stormageddon or something like that. I’ll call him – I’ll call him Mako.”

Cullen has to laugh softly. “That’s a good name.”

“He’ll grow into it,” she decides, and smooths a fingertip over one floppy little ear. “Hello, Mako.”


	2. soft sad songs

Regret, Cullen thinks as his fingers tighten around his glass of ginger ale, tastes like the ashen remnants of burned photographs, the bitter stench of it undercut by acrid chemicals.

Talk about the perfect metaphor for his state of mind.

A break-up. His best friend on her honeymoon and therefore out of reach. He remembers Cassandra insisting that she’d still talk to him. He won’t reach for his phone. And now this, one more piece of bad news, one more nail, and he might as well have the coffin lowered, six feet and deeper, because hope sounds like something he’ll never grasp in his hands again.

Still. He crooks a finger at the bartender. More ginger ale. Nothing but soft drinks for him. Maybe he doesn’t know what happiness is right now, but he’s still got something good left in him. Maybe. He’s being sensible.

Melancholy scales on a burnished black piano, on the little stage tucked into the corner of the bar. 

Is it just him, Cullen thinks, or has he imagined that the sounds of the bar have fallen away? Is that a hush, and is it expectant? What are people holding their breath for?

Click of a spotlight turning on. Faint golden light on the woman at the piano. The gray of her dress is dark against olive skin softly burnished. Dark hair in a fishtail braid. Gray lace gloves, the fingertips cut away.

“I’m not Adele,” the woman says, “but maybe you won’t mind if I sing this –- ”

Cullen recognizes the mournful memory. Graceful arch of wrists over the keyboard. The woman at the piano accompanies herself. _I could offer you a warm embrace to make you feel my love._

Slow, bittersweet song. He looks into the dregs of his glass – he hadn’t known he’d emptied it again – and then at the singer, again. As she plays she keeps looking at the piano, and he thinks she’s likely absorbed in the music to see her audience. People hanging on to every yearning note. 

And then she blinks. 

Instrumental, and the streak of reflected light on her cheek. He shakes his head. Is he imagining her tears? Is he imagining his own? But no, he is crying, he realizes as she takes her hands off the keyboard and sings the last lines in a shivering voice, in a lost and lonely whisper.

Maybe he’s grateful that there are other smothered sobs in the shadows of the bar – but he’s more grateful that he can push up to his feet. That he can dig in his pocket, that he’s even still carrying a handkerchief, that he can catch up to the singer and offer it. 

“Hi,” she says, and sniffles. “Sorry about this.” She waves vaguely at her cheek.

“You’re – you’re good,” Cullen says.

“You’re very kind to say so.” And: “Should I apologize for making you cry? It happens, sometimes.”

“No. Don’t apologize.”

Tear-streaked smile, and he gives her one of his own.

“I’m Kiriya,” the singer says. “And thanks for letting me use your handkerchief.”

“You’re welcome, Kiriya,” he says. “I’m Cullen.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am also on [tumblr](http://ninemoons42.tumblr.com/) and my Dragon Age: Inquisition blog is [here](http://ninemoons42-inquisition.tumblr.com/).


End file.
